Support
by It's-Teatime-Somewhere
Summary: Sherlock asks Mycroft for a favour. Just some sad, brotherly bonding. Spoilers for Reichenbach. Slashy themes.


Support

**A/N: Very short oneshot about Sherlock asking Mycroft for some help. This story was influenced by the poem below and the following songs: _The Beacon_ by a Fine Frenzy, _Follow You Down To the Red Oak Tree_ by James Vincent McMorrow,_ My Lover's Gone_ by Dido, and_ Deora Ar Mo Chori _by Enya. Enjoy!**

_The poem by Barbra Jackson:_

_And I  
Will cry  
If you  
Go to  
But prove  
Your move  
Is good  
And could  
Advance  
Your stance  
Then I  
Will sigh  
But still  
I will  
Kiss you  
A fond  
Adieu_

"You can't be serious."

"Mycroft, it's the only way."

"It can't be. I won't allow it."

Mycroft looked over at his younger brother who was wearing the face of an aged man, rather than his usual mask of a petulant child. He seemed to have aged ten years, lines creasing across his pale face. The smile lines that Mycroft had come to notice while his brother traipsed around London with Dr. Watson had gone missing.

"I have to do it. There's no other way," Sherlock replied. The two brothers were sitting in Mycroft's sitting room, each perched on the edge of the couches, an untouched tea on the coffee table for both.

When Mycroft had seen his brother enter, he had known it was not a social call. Sherlock only visited if he wanted something. However, he had never asked for something as ludicrous as this.

"What about dear Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. From the way he tensed up, hands clenching, and the flash of hurt that flew across his face, Mycroft realised this was the one issue Sherlock was fighting. The one thing that kept him from doing it.

Yet the internal battle was strong, that much was obvious. Sherlock's head was in constant battle, his lust for adventure and his love for his friend, both vying for dominance. And, sadly, it seemed that adventure won. Or did it?

"John won't care." His face was impassive, but no one can hide anything from Mycroft.

Ah. There it was. The delusioned mind Mycroft knew so well. Sherlock and Dr. Watson were the two thickest people on the planet if they thought they could survive without the other. Sherlock clearly thought Dr. Watson didn't care about him.

"I beg to differ, dear brother, and I will refute your argument as such: John will care quite a bit, more than you care to believe."

Sherlock gave Mycroft a hard stare, and Mycroft noticed that he knew it was true, at least his subconscious did, but didn't want to believe it.

"He couldn't."

"I'm surprised at you, Sherlock, usually your deductions are numerous. Don't tell me you haven't observed as much," Mycroft tutted, taking a sip of his now-tepid tea.

"I'm not discussing my love life with you, Mycroft," Sherlock spat, "I just need your help."

"So you admit you're in love?"

Sherlock glared at his brother. "Will you just help me?"

"Give me one good reason." Contrary to popular belief, Mycroft didn't hate his brother. He disliked the way he carried on, making such a mess of things with his lack of social skills, but if it really was for the best, Mycroft would do anything for his little brother.

"A-as long as I'm alive, Moriarty will continue to find my weakness, and I can't take that risk." Sherlock voice was monotonus, as if he was just stating the facts, no emotion at all.

"And this weakness is Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock nodded, his curly hair flying everywhere. His shoulder slumped and Mycroft's heart nearly broke. It was moments like these when the little boy in Sherlock shone threw his tough shell that Mycroft really loved his brother and felt the need to protect him with everything he had.

"So you _do _love him." Mycroft felt a surge of pride for Dr. Watson. It was a rare occurance, if any, when someone got through to Sherlock.

"Must you phrase it like that? I don't believe it is relevant to the situation."

Mycroft sighed at his brother's obtuse attitude towards the whole situation.

"Sherlock, I don't like it. If John has to deal with losing the man he loves-yes, I know he loves you," Mycroft said, calming down the fierce look Sherlock had. "Anyway, if he has to lose you and you have to watch him suffer, will either of you truly be okay?"

Sherlock grabbed at tufts of his hair. He seemed to fight an internal battle before taking a deep breath. "Yes, it will be better if I'm gone."

"Do you really think so?" Mycroft used ever trick of persuasion he knew to disuade his brother.

"I have to!" Sherlock shouted. "It's my only option left," he siad in a quieter tone.

Mycroft leaned back into the couch. Clearly, Sherlock had delusioned himself into thinking that Dr. Watson's life would be better without Sherlock and the htreat of Moriarty in it. Yet Mycroft had never seen Sherlock happier than when he was with Dr. Watson. The doctor seemed to bring out a whole nother side of Sherlock no one knew existed. He smiled, was kinder, and tried to do things for Dr. Watson's benefit. And the few times Mycroft had spoken with Sherlock's flatmate, the man showed a passionate loyalty to Sherlock, one that was rivaled by no other.

But when Sherlock put his mind to something, it was dreadfully hard to change it, usually involving the fall of a few governments. And Mycroft didn't want to go to all of that trouble if it made Sherlock more upset than before.

"Fine," Mycroft sighed, "I shall help."

"Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock murmured, his eyes full of sadness. He exhaled deeply and leaned back into the couch, the tension finally leaving him.

In a moment of strange emotion, Mycroft got up, walked over to his brother, and dropped a feather-light kiss on the younger man's hair.

"I shall send someone in to help with the details," he whispered as Sherlock looked up at him. "Stay safe, brother, and contact me if you wish to return."

"Goodbye," he heard Sherlock whisper as he left the room.

_Adieu_,he thought in his mind._ Adieu, beloved brother._


End file.
